Three Days
by somethingsdont
Summary: EC. Two nights a week. Never less; never more.
1. The First Day

**Title**: Three Days  
**Author**: Lucy (somethingsdont)  
**Pairing**: Eric/Calleigh  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Timeline**: 7.16, Sink or Swim  
**Summary**: Two nights a week. Never less; never more.  
**Notes**: Hi. I know I haven't updated my WIPs in ages, but the promo for Sink or Swim made me want to write something quick and relatively painless. This will be a 3-parter and for once, I have everything written already so this whole thing'll be up before The Episode on Monday; separating it is just a dirty ploy. Please enjoy!

* * *

**The First Day  
**

The night Eric was released from federal detention was a Monday. Calleigh didn't have to ask; he stayed over. Not many words passed from one to the other, and eventually, he found himself lying behind Calleigh on the couch, skimming his hand along her arm, trying to forget the events of the day, trying to comfort and draw that same comfort from her.

It had been a frightening experience for both of them, but especially him. He'd known about his father for weeks now, but it didn't make it an easier pill to swallow. There was frustration and rage, and an insuppressible resignation toward a person who deserved it and a handful of people who didn't.

Calleigh, on the other hand, had spent the better part of the day trying to figure out how she could help him bounce back from this. She hurt _for _him, and it'd been a while since she felt someone else's pain with this intensity. But that wasn't the worst part. He'd lost the glimmer in his eyes, and his smile had been extremely elusive. She could read that look; she'd seen it in the mirror more times than she could count.

"I was pretty scared for you today," she murmured.

Her hand came to a stop near her elbow. "I was pretty scared, too," he admitted.

She turned to face him, searching for his dark eyes. "Tell me about that," she requested.

He planted a kiss on her shoulder, keeping his lips there, lingering. Finally, he shook his head, and with a bitter chuckle, he spoke words of quiet resignation. "I don't know who I am anymore."

"I do." She touched his cheek gingerly; they were inflamed. "I know who you are."

He leaned down and kissed her softly, quietly communicating to her how much her words meant to him, how much he needed to hear her reassuring confidence. In a moment when little could've comforted him, he found a glimmer of hope in her unconditional trust in him. He couldn't describe how much he appreciated her, how lucky he felt to have her this way, open and unafraid.

Later that night, as they lay in bed together, Eric was restless, tossing and turning on his side of the bed. The few times that Calleigh tried to reach out to him, he would still for a moment then push her away, and she wasn't sure if it was a conscious act or not, but she stayed with him in this not-so-merry-go-round anyway. At a quarter to one, the two were still wide awake, and after he withdrew his hand from hers once again, Calleigh sat up suddenly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, her voice scratchy from exhaustion.

He froze. "No."

She nodded and slid back under the covers. "Okay."

A moment later, she could sense the guilt surging from him. "Sorry I'm keeping you up," he muttered. She couldn't read his tone. He stared up at the ceiling. "Do you want me to go?"

She slid closer to him and threaded her fingers through his. "Eric, did something happen in detention?"

He shook his head. "I just…" He exhaled sharply. "My entire existence is a lie." He said it with such desperate finality, it nearly broke her heart.

She curled up beside him and reached to kiss his temple. "I'm still here." She traced her fingertip across his jaw line and felt a light tremor. "That's not a lie," she added, pressing her forehead against his shoulder.

He turned toward her and pulled her tightly against him. The sudden movement surprised her, but she sensed a breakthrough and waited patiently for a few minutes while he breathed heavily into her hair.

"My father is a bad man," he murmured, so quietly she almost didn't hear him.

She pressed a kiss against his chest. "You aren't him."

He hesitated, but when he finally spoke, there was no uncertainty. "I know." He found the hem of her shirt with his hands and slid a few fingers up along her bare back, making her shiver. "I always thought I was blessed with this incredible family, and that's gone." A hint of insecurity had crept back into his voice, and he pressed harder against her skin without meaning to.

Calleigh reached behind her and gently loosened his fingers, eliciting an apology from him. "It's okay," she quickly dismissed, shifting against him. "Your mother and your father – the man who raised you – love you very much; that doesn't change."

He clenched his jaw. "They kept this from me," he muttered, his words laced with poison. "My sisters must've known, too. Marisol, she took this secret to her grave."

Calleigh knew how much that tore at him, and she wished she had the words to quell his fears, his insecurities, but she found herself at a loss. "They were trying to protect y—"

"Bullshit."

She bit her lip. "Eric."

"I'm so sick of people telling me that," he said with a misdirected bitterness.

Sensing that this was a lost battle, Calleigh quieted. She knew it'd be difficult, but not like this. The worst part was not having the words, not knowing the answers, being incapable of taking his pain from him.

He misread her silence as indignation. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just—"

"I know." She pressed her lips to his, again when she felt how dry they were. "Let's call it a night, okay?" she asked, fiddling absentmindedly with the hem of his pillowcase.

He nodded. "Can you—" He hesitated, then mumbled, "Never mind."

"Hold you?" she asked, smiling when his eyes darted away. She didn't have to touch his cheeks to know how hot they burned. Without waiting for him to reply, she pulled herself even closer and kissed his cheek. It was a role reversal of sorts, but she didn't mind it one bit. Her arms slid around his torso, and despite her tiny frame, she cradled him, her lips ghosting along his skin and searching out his lips.

"I love you," he whispered to her when she pulled away.

She smiled brightly and held him tighter. "I love you, too."


	2. The Second Day

**The Second Day  
**

After shift Tuesday, she invited him over again, which wasn't unusual because there were no self-imposed limits on how many hours a day or days a week the two spent together, only nights. After all, they'd been working together for nearly a decade and spending time together was second nature to them, even before they were official.

A walk. They'd decided to take a walk. Or she had, because he hadn't been very talkative all day. Her neighborhood was calm and though they kept up a comfortable conversation, he seemed distracted. She didn't need to know him as well as she did to know what was on his mind. On their way back, she leaned toward him.

"Stay over tonight?"

His pace slowed for a moment. "Again?"

She searched him for clues. "If you want."

"I do," he admitted, "but what about our rule?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Our rule says two. Today is two."

He considered it for a moment. Their rule. On the surface, it was a dumb rule, but he knew it was what kept them from rushing too deep too fast and ruining their fragile relationship.

Twice a week, he stayed the night at her place, in her bed, his body flush against hers. It'd be a night of quiet words and teasing kisses, until she got that look in her eyes and climbed over him with a fiery intent. Two nights a week. Never less; never more. It was a number they'd agreed on together, though in truth, it was more for her. She needed time and space, and a multitude of irrational environmental restrictions that kept their relationship on track and maintained her sense of control. In some ways, he needed the limits too, so he cherished the two they had and spent the other five waiting for a call he knew wouldn't come. But it worked for them.

Fridays and Saturdays were the easiest on their busy work schedules, but occasionally, after a particularly rough shift, one would request to move it earlier in the week and the other was always eager to comply. They'd never, however, used up both days by Tuesday.

But he found himself craving her presence, her quiet strength, and he knew that it was the only reason he'd managed to even fall asleep the night before. He needed her. In his darkest moments, he needed her to keep him grounded, to keep him going.

Finally, as they neared her house, he nodded. "Okay."

She led him inside. Moments later, she was at the stove, fixing something for them to eat. He slipped behind her and kissed the base of her neck.

"What are you making?" he asked, letting his lips trail up to her ear.

"Pasta," she replied, instinctively tilting her head to give him access. "What are you doing?"

He spun her around and pinned her against the kitchen counter. "Let's just order something," he murmured, leaning down to properly kiss her. His fingers skimmed down her sides and came to rest on her hips. She opened her mouth to him and moaned when she felt his lips and tongue move with an unparalleled intensity.

When he finally pulled away, she smiled. "Why? Got other plans?"

He pulled her toward him. "Yeah, is that okay?" His tone was teasing, but she understood that his request went deeper than physical need. It'd been a rough couple of days, and she couldn't blame him for wanting to feel something, wanting to forget.

She took his hand and brought him upstairs, and for the next hour and a half, she helped him to feel, helped him to forget. It began sweet, and he remained gentle, though she sensed moments of aggression and desperation. The second time, she let him take the reins, being careful to maintain a comfortable pace for the both of them. The third was rougher, sharper around the edges, but she knew that he needed it. She came to realize that she needed the release as much as he did, and when they were finally sated, the perspiration sticking to their skin, he held her quietly, rocked her.

They stayed there, nearly motionless, until Calleigh's stomach let out a loud, dissatisfied grumble.

Eric chuckled. "Sorry I kept you from dinner."

She shook her head. "It's okay. I needed this, too."

He pressed his lip against her shoulder and blew a raspberry against her skin. She laughed and pushed his head away. The two fell into silence again, until she shifted against him and posed a question that'd been bothering her.

"Can I ask you a question that might anger you?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

She allowed another minute to pass before quietly asking, "Have you been seeing a psychiatrist since Dr. Marsh?"

He studied her for a moment. "Yeah, I never stopped. The department assigned me to someone else."

Struggling for words, she tried to figure out how to broach the topic without shutting him down. "When are you seeing her?"

"It's a him," he replied, "and I have an appointment Thursday."

She looked carefully into his eyes. "Will you talk to him about what happened this week?"

He buried his face into her hair. "Calleigh, I don't want to have this conversation."

She allowed her fingers to wander up his neck until she felt the beginning of short, prickly hair. "You should with someone."

He sighed. "I will," he acquiesced. He moved his hand over her bare abdomen. "Can I talk to you?"

Hunger forgotten, she turned to face him. "Of course," she replied, searching for hints across his features, but he was still clutching his cards close.

Her compassion made it easier to verbalize his fears, though it still took him a moment to form something resembling the thoughts inundating his mind. "You know what I was thinking when I was in there, before you came to visit?"

Despite being terrified of his response, she asked, "What's that?"

"I was wondering if you'd show up," he admitted with a dry chuckle. He traced shapes along her side with his fingertip. "If I'd ever see you like this again."

The idea that he'd questioned their foundation rocked her. "How could you doubt that?" she asked quietly.

His eyes closed, almost as if bracing for something. "I don't know. Are you upset?"

She shook her head, even though he couldn't see her. "Eric, I'm not running away because of something entirely out of your control," she reassured him, pressing a quick kiss to his collarbone. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Though his eyes remained closed, a small smile appeared across his lips. "I know that now." He peered at her from behind heavy lids. "When you showed up and sat there and talked to me, told me that it was okay, that you were sticking around, that meant a lot to me." His words were quiet but his meaning was potent, and his honesty struck her hard.

She smiled faintly. "Is it crazy that we've been together for three weeks and I already can't imagine not having you like this?"

He chuckled and pulled her tighter against him. "Not crazy. I've never felt like this with anyone."

Her stomach grumbled again, and this time, they slid out of bed and got dressed. He ordered some pizza, and they spent the next few hours just… relaxing. They laughed, experienced genuine happiness and taught each other a lesson in unconditional love. And for the first time, he truly believed that what they had together would help him through, help him heal. Having her, finally, _finally_, infused him with a feeling of invincibility. He'd get past this. Not today, not tomorrow, but over time.

That night, after the pizza was long gone, after they'd taken a quiet shower together, he lay in bed beside her for the second time in two nights. She held him tightly; he didn't have to ask this time, and with the knowledge of forever fresh in his mind, his slumber was devoid of the nightmares he'd prepared himself for. She was the only dream catcher he'd ever need.


	3. The Third Day

A/N: Oops, this was supposed to be posted yesterday. But I kept my promise and got it up before tomorrow's episode! Hopefully this little fic made the wait a little more tolerable. Or, you know, the exact opposite. Anyway, please enjoy!

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**The Third Day  
**

Wednesday night, the ticking clock was the bane of Eric's existence, and he didn't know how to feel about that. He'd found himself at Calleigh's again, but it was getting late, and he just… didn't want to sleep alone; his bed didn't smell like Calleigh, and he had a feeling he'd need that if he wanted to get any sleep at all. But he wasn't going to be the one to break their rule. No way. They needed their boundaries, and he understood that; he just really wanted to hold her while he slept. The very idea that he wouldn't get to was making him physically uncomfortable, anxious. He checked his watch. He should've been out of there ten minutes ago.

Their positions on the couch weren't helping with his attachment issues, either. He'd never imagined her to be particularly affectionate, but as he watched her cuddled up against him, he couldn't figure out why he ever doubted it. Her eyes were closed, her grip firm, and he was almost locked against the back of her couch. Not that he minded, but it was a hell of a lot more difficult to force himself to leave. Still, he mustered up his willpower and tried to sit up. He didn't get very far.

Her eyes opened for a moment, and she brushed her fingers against the stubble across his cheek. "Want to stick around?"

Despite his immediate impulse, he hesitated. "I've already stayed two days this week," he said, knowing that she knew as much.

She allowed a faint smile. "Another wouldn't hurt."

He frowned slightly, trying to manage the way his heart hammered insistently in his chest. He refused to be nervous over this. "I thought we agreed—"

She silenced him with a kiss, desperate but unpretentious. "Stay a third," she insisted.

He eased back into a comfortable position against her. "We're breaking our rule," he whispered into her hair.

She seemed to consider it for a moment. "It was more of a guideline."

He couldn't believe he was playing the devil's advocate in all this. "Calleigh, if I stay tonight, I'm going to want to stay tomorrow night, and Friday night, and—"

"You can," she interrupted, a little louder than she'd probably meant to.

He hesitated. "I don't think that's good for us."

She nodded slightly. "Maybe not," she said quietly, "but I need you."

He had zero arguments for that one, so he accepted their situation as it stood, because he needed her as much, if not more, than she did him. They stayed there for a long time, until her breathing became shallow and her grip loosened. He was trying to decide if he should risk waking her up by carrying her to bed when she stirred.

"What's bothering you?" she murmured.

He was caught off guard and blurted the first thing that came to mind. "What are we going to tell our—" Fortunately, his brain caught up to his tongue in time, and though he could hear his own heart pounding, his words had garnered no reaction from her, so he figured he'd gotten away with it. She was probably asleep, and as the seconds ticked by with no change in her demeanor, he allowed himself to relax.

Five minutes later, words began to spill from her lips. "We tell them—" Her arm slid around to his shoulder blades. "We tell them that their _abuela_ and _abuelo_ were good people, that they made mistakes but that they also made sacrifices so that their daddy could grow up in a safe environment."

He turned toward her, heart thoroughly wrenched. In the good way. He opened his mouth to express his gratitude, but all he could muster was a quiet, "Yeah?"

She nodded, eyes fluttering open. "Eventually, when they're ready and if you want, we'll explain the situation to them."

He couldn't help but grin. "They?" He could almost hear the pitter-patter of their feet. "How many?" he asked, fingers fiddling nervously along the hem of her shirt. He knew he shouldn't; it was far too early and might do nothing but push her away, but he sensed that they each needed a confirmation of direction from the other.

"Two?" She searched his eyes for hints but the room had grown dark. "Maybe three." She planted a pair kiss along his pulse point. "You want a baseball team," she murmured, her lips vibrating against his neck.

He chuckled. "I just want you," replied, earning another kiss. He quickly sobered up. "We shouldn't be talking about this."

"Why?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Because we've barely been together a month, and because my family is full of lies and deceit."

"Eric," she said quietly, too quietly, "mine, too."

He either couldn't read her tone or was too blinded by his own self-pity to realize it. "Your mother never lied to you about who your real father was."

She tensed noticeably. "This isn't a competition," she said stiffly. "And if it were, I certainly wouldn't want anybody to win it."

He swallowed hard. "I'm being a jerk. I'm sorry."

She exhaled evenly. "Eric, you grew up in a loving home, surrounded by people who genuinely loved you. I know it hurts now, and I'm here for you, I really am, but please don't make comparisons like that," she requested, her voice tapering off near the end. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I don't care whose family is more dysfunctional; I just want you to be a part of mine." She heard him murmur another quiet apology, but she pressed her index finger to his lips. "Don't apologize again, just please don't forget that I'm on your side."

He took her hand in his and brushed his lips across her knuckles. "Do you want to talk about it? Your family?"

She bit her lip. "Not now," she told him, struggling to keep the sudden emotion out of her words. "When I'm ready."

He nodded and gave her hand a tight squeeze. "Thank you for being amazing." He knew that he hadn't come close to expressing even a fraction of the gratitude he felt toward her, but it was a start, and he had a feeling she understood.

She smiled. "Thank you for staying tonight," she replied, tucking her head into the crook of her neck and staying there.

He opened his mouth to ask her if she wanted to move to the bedroom, but after a moment of deliberation, he decided against it. If he could bottle up a feeling and keep it close forever, he knew which one he'd choose. As another minute passed, however, he changed his mind. Nothing bottled would ever come close to the way he felt now.

Doubtless there would be more ups and downs in the days to come, more horrible revelations and painful deceptions, but he understood that he wasn't alone, that Calleigh's unassuming strength was there to keep him on his feet. It wasn't ideal, but he knew that Calleigh understood the consequences of a shaky family better than anyone, and in that twisted way, it brought them closer.

As he drifted off, he made that his silver lining.


End file.
